


Just A Taste

by marsprince



Category: Archie Comics, Archie Comics & Related Fandoms, Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1950s, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Gay Sex, Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, Kissing, M/M, Oral Sex, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-18
Updated: 2017-09-18
Packaged: 2018-12-31 03:11:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12123264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marsprince/pseuds/marsprince
Summary: Riverdale, 1950s. Reggie is a boxer. Archie writes for a small journal. He likes to watch Reggie fight and take him out to bars afterwards. It might be forbidden, but it’s just too fucking good.





	Just A Taste

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Homophobia (especially internalized).  
> 50's Riverdale gives me life. It's not exactly an AU since Archie Comics has been around for a very, very long time.

Archie doesn’t know the first thing about boxing. He should. Single man, just entering his twenties with a fondness for smokey bars and cold beer? Yeah, he probably should know at least the basics about boxing. Add onto that the fact that Archie writes a weekly column on boxing in Riverdale - a pretty popular column at that - and you’ve got something of a perplexing situation.

Perplexing to anyone except Archie Andrews and Reggie Mantle, anyway.

There’s a final crash, the unmistakable smack and wheeze of a fully-grown man hitting the floor, and then Archie leaving his glass of beer on the dirty counter, and shoving his way through the crowd, holding his camera above his head, and hissing curses at anyone who jostles him.

Reggie’s soaked in sweat and there’s a split in his eyebrow oozing blood. He’s grinning. Archie hadn’t been able to see the blood from his seat at the bar, but he had seen the way Reggie buckled in on himself at a punch to the stomach. He’d seen Reggie’s teeth bared in rage as he swung for his opponent, putting all his weight into a single punch.

The cheering and shouts from the drunken crowd aren’t dying down at all as Archie clambers up into the boxing ring, teetering dangerously on the edge when he gets his foot caught on the ropes. Once he’s righted himself, he sweeps his fringe out of his face and straightens his jacket, catching the referee’s eye and raising his camera. A quick snap of Reggie, his arm raised in triumph, is all it takes. Then Archie tugs a grubby pad and a blunt pencil out of his pocket and waves them around a bit.

“Interview?” He calls over the din, glancing back and forth between Reggie and the referee, who just nods and shoves Reggie towards him.

Archie doesn’t bother fighting back a grin as Reggie grabs his towel, thinking that at least this one he can put down to the excitement of the match. The crowd parts for them, and soon they’re slipping into the tiny back room. It’s dark but for a dim lightbulb hanging low from the ceiling, and there are three rickety chairs at odd intervals along the walls. Reggie’s clothes are draped over one and he heads straight for them, running the towel over his face as he walks. Archie sits in the second one, and drags the third over, propping his feet up on it and leaning back to watch Reggie dress.

“Good fight?” Archie asks, smirking.

Reggie pulls his cotton shirt over his head. It sticks to the sweat on his back. “You were there.” He says. “Weren’t you watching?”

“Oh, I was watching.” Archie says, letting his voice drop and knowing that the hint of suggestion will have Reggie flushed and fuming in equal measure. That’s what makes it so nice.

“Yeah, it was pretty good actually.” Reggie says by way of reply. His voice is low, but the way he stumbles when he bends to slip on his shoes tells Archie that he hadn’t missed the redhead’s real meaning. “I’ll write up the key points for you.”

“Brilliant.” Archie grins, jumping to his feet and pacing over to push the pad and pencil into Reggie’s hands. “And I’ll buy you a drink.”

They stare at each other for a moment. Archie is dying to reach out and run his fingers through the dampness in Reggie’s hair; to press his face into Reggie’s neck and inhale the strong scent of sweat, and feel his bruises and solid muscle; to lick along Reggie’s bottom lip and bite until he hears the other man moan, but the twist of nervousness which knots deep in his stomach at the thought stops him. Reggie’s eyes are wide and bright, bright brown, but his forehead is creased like he knows what Archie’s thinking, and he’s trying to will him not to do it. Not to touch him. Not yet.

“Not here.” Reggie says quietly, and Archie doesn’t know if he means the kissing or the drink, but he nods anyway. Reggie’s voice is lower than usual. There’s an edge of uncertainty to it, and Archie knows that’s because he’s feeling the twist too.

“I’m not a goddam idiot.” He mutters, flustered, heart beating fast, and shoving Reggie’s shoulder while turning to leave the room.

 

* * *

 

The drinks go down easy after the first three rounds of whiskey. The tension drops from Reggie’s shoulders, and he starts looking Archie in the eye, telling him stories about the families at the church. Archie stops glancing over his shoulder at the men speaking in whispers in the corner, and stretches his legs out under the table, letting his ankles rub against Reggie’s in a way that he’s sure will look accidental.

Reggie doesn’t stop talking but he moves his feet back, tucking them underneath his chair, pulling away from Archie’s touch. He won’t be pulling away later, Archie knows that for a fact, so he doesn’t mention it. He just sends Reggie a sly grin and orders them both some beers.

“You shouldn’t do that.” Reggie says as they wait, leaning in and keeping his voice low.

Archie knows what he means but still asks, almost innocently. “Shouldn’t what?” Anyway as the barmaid sets their drinks down in front of them.

Reggie glares at Archie as he slides his beer over to him, but says nothing.

“I shouldn’t touch you, brush against you, in a dark, dirty, cramped little hole like this?” He motions around him, the movement making his head spin a little and shit, maybe he’s had more than he thought. Maybe this isn’t coming out right. “But I can come and watch you fight?”

“That’s different.” Reggie mutters, running his thumb through the condensation on his glass.

“Different?” Archie repeats, knowing his voice is rising with indignation but not caring at all. “Different? Tell me how that’s different. It’s worse, is what it is, Reggie. So much worse and you know it.”

He has told Reggie before; he told him the first time, when Archie followed Reggie into the back room after a fight and talked him into going out for a drink. Archie told Reggie when he was soft, and warm, and drunk in Archie’s small apartment, pressed up against the door and moaning into Archie’s hair. He told Reggie that watching him fight made his skin tingle, that it made his pulse pound in his ears, and his cock throb inside his trousers. Archie had whispered it to Reggie, mouthed it against his jaw, between Reggie’s pants of we shouldn’t, and it’s wrong, and I’m not one of _them_ , I’m not.

“Archie!” Reggie hisses, dragging Archie in by the collar so that he can bite out his words against Archie’s ear. “Shut up. Stop it, I’m fucking serious. We’re alone here, right? There’s no one to help us, and those guys in the corner are already staring.”

The hairs on the back of Archie’s neck stand up. He can smell Reggie’s sweat from the fight and his shirt collar is digging into the back of his neck from where Reggie is pulling him forward. The cold shock of fear that runs through Archie’s body goes a long way to sobering him up. He gulps and lets out a shaky breath, trying to nod so that only Reggie sees because the chance of being discovered is suddenly very, very real.

When Reggie releases him they go back to their drinks, not daring to look anywhere but at the floor for several long, tense minutes. It’s only when the low hum of chatter really starts up around them again that Archie feels safe to raise his eyes to Reggie’s.

“I’m sorry.” He mumbles, his voice so hushed that he isn’t sure if Reggie will hear him until his dark-haired head snaps up. Archie takes another swig of beer. “I’m sorry, I just- you know how those fights... How they get me.” Archie shifts uneasily in his chair. “And I don’t know how to do that for you, not out here. Not like it is for me. It’s just- it makes it so much better, with people around. People who don’t know what you’re doing to me, and I wanna give you that too.”

The quick touch of Reggie’s palm across Archie’s hand makes him stutter into silence. Archie stares down at the way Reggie’s fingers are discreetly circling his wrist against the dirty wooden table, his lips parting in surprise. Reggie meets Archie’s eye for a moment looking earnest, not uncomfortable, or angry, or hateful like he usually is when they touch in public. Then, the moment is gone and Reggie’s hand is firmly gripping his glass, lifting it to his lips and emptying the last dregs of beer down his throat.

“You can’t do that for me.” Reggie says, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You just can’t. Now come on.”

 

* * *

 

It’s always the same. Archie watches Reggie shift between terror and confidence, between disgust and lust, for the entire walk back to Archie’s tiny apartment. There are moments when Reggie pushes in close to Archie, letting their shoulders knock together and muttering something about boxing - saying his bruises are aching, describing the way his glove feels when it crashes into a muscled stomach, telling Archie how his mind fogs over at the first punch and what it’s like to taste your own blood, and know you’re being paid for this; for putting on a show.

Those are Reggie’s confident moments. Those are the moments which leave Archie feeling itchy all over, and desperate to sink into the privacy of his place; desperate to hear the click of the latch and know that they’re alone; know that they’re hidden.

Then there are other moments. There are moments when Reggie speeds up ahead of Archie as if he’s trying to get away, and moments when he slows right down, trailing after Archie like he’s reluctant to follow; like he just wants to go home. Archie sees the pained look on Reggie’s face in these moments of disgust and he ignores him, waits patiently for these feelings to pass and for Reggie to push his mother, his father, his friends, God, common decency, everything out of his head and give in again. Because Reggie will give in - he always does. The morals which tear Reggie up every time they slink into the first bar of the evening always crumble just as Archie slides his key into the lock, and lets them into the pitch-black hall of his home.

This time Reggie flicks the light on for Archie, and then slips out of his shoes and tucks them under the cabinet to the left of the door. When Reggie looks up, Archie can’t help but smile a little. It makes his gut wrench how familiar this routine is now. Reggie calmly hangs his coat on the spare peg Archie leaves for him, and suddenly it feels so right to be home alone with Reggie, both of them digging their socked toes into the thin old carpet and watching each other under the dusty yellow light.

“I’ll make some coffee.” Archie says, and Reggie nods without a word. The cold walk usually rids them of the fuzzy press of alcohol, but sometimes they need a little coffee to help them along. They don’t do it drunk, not after the first time. Archie thinks it would be better if they could only do it drunk, if this was something that required alcohol to feel right, but it doesn’t. He wants to be aware of who he is, remember his own name, know and hear and comprehend everything as he sucks bruises across Reggie’s hipbones or presses his face into the sofa as Reggie’s fingers pull his ass cheeks apart to make way for the hot, torturous drag of his tongue.

When Archie walks into the sitting room with two mugs of coffee he finds Reggie leaning back on the sofa and poking gingerly at the cut across his eyebrow. He sits up straighter when he sees the redhead, smiling weakly as the coffee cups are set down on the table. He watches as Archie pulls off his jacket and tosses it onto the armchair. The tense silence only breaks when the other man perches next to Reggie on the sofa, reaching behind him to run his fingers in a soft, swirling pattern along his lover’s back and leaning in to press his nose to Reggie’s cold cheekbone.

“Sorry.” Archie whispers against Reggie’s cheek, kissing him there and letting out a heavy breath. “About earlier.”

Reggie shakes his head. “You just- you push too much when you’re angry.” He says, leaning into Archie’s touch. The redhead keeps kissing his cheek and Reggie’s eyes drift shut, but he doesn’t stop speaking. “We can’t do that, okay? Any of it. Ever. We shouldn’t even- we really shouldn’t be...”

Reggie’s protests fade into nothing as Archie tugs him in with the hand on his back and starts rubbing his fingers up and down Reggie’s chest, brushing over the buttons of his shirt as he kisses along Reggie’s jaw.

“I won’t, I promise.” Archie says into the quiet. “I won’t.”

“You can’t.” Reggie tells him. He’s clearly trying to put some force into his voice, but the way his fingers work their way into Archie’s hair, and press him closer takes away from the sting. “That - what you get from the boxing - I don’t get that. I don’t- I can’t feel it. Not with other people there, okay? Never. It doesn’t turn me on, it just frightens me.”

“I won’t.” Archie repeats one last time. He waits until Reggie sighs, satisfied, and then he reaches for Reggie’s jaw, turning his face so that their noses brush, and he can lean in and press their lips together. It starts off a little timid, a little dry, a little nervous because they know that they could be beaten for this - that they could have died for it tonight - but then the rush of warmth, pleasure, and need takes over, and Archie feels Reggie’s lips part.

He runs his tongue along Reggie’s bottom lip and pushes inside, licking into Reggie’s mouth, stealing his hot, wet breaths and groaning with relief. It feels like he’s waited forever for this; like the short nod of greeting he and Reggie had exchanged before the boxing match was months ago, not hours.

“Back, move back.” Archie huffs into a groan, pushing at Reggie’s shoulders, and Reggie obeys. He leans back on the sofa, not taking his eyes off Archie as he shifts over and swings a leg across Reggie’s lap. Archie slides down into the dip of Reggie’s hips and grins when he feels the nudge of Reggie’s half-hard cock against his own.

Archie drapes his arms around Reggie’s neck and rolls his hips, the contact making Reggie moan, deep and desperate.

“Shhh.” Archie hushes him, cupping Reggie jaw tenderly. Then moments later. “Let it all out, baby. Please, for me.”

This time when Archie rolls his hips against Reggie’s, he leans in to kiss him again and lets out a needy moan of his own. Archie snakes his hand between their bodies and presses it to the bulge in Reggie’s trousers, rubbing his thumb along the hard shaft of Reggie’s cock and biting his lip at the hungry clench of lust which tugs at the bottom of his stomach. He knows his fingers are shaking as he fumbles with Reggie’s belt and fly, but he isn’t embarrassed; he’s never embarrassed when it’s just Reggie, only sad and tired and reckless.

While Archie is pushing Reggie’s underwear down and closing his fingers around Reggie’s cock, Reggie starts unbuttoning Archie’s shirt. He begins at the collar, tossing aside Archie’s twisted tie and licking his way down his neck and chest as he uncovers more and more skin. It mainly tickles, and makes Archie gasp and grin, until Reggie pushes Archie’s shirt over his shoulders and off onto the floor. The cold air makes Archie shiver, but then Reggie is licking and sucking at one of his nipples, brushing his thumb over the other, and Archie can’t do anything but whimper. He threads his fingers into Reggie’s black hair and kisses the top of his head, fingers in a loose circle around Reggie’s cock, and hips working in a rhythm he can’t control.

“Let me-” Reggie rasps, breaking off to nip at Archie’s nipple. “Let me suck you, please. Archie, Arch, please...”

Just as he says it, Reggie presses his palm against Archie’s throbbing cock and Archie sees stars for a split second. Before he quite knows what he’s doing, he’s gasping out. “Yes.” and slipping out of Reggie’s lap to stand on shaky feet in front of the sofa.

Archie unbuckles his trousers and shoves them down with his underwear in one motion. Reggie strips off his shirt, and then tries to push his own trousers down his thighs, but he gives up when he catches sight of the way Archie’s limbs are shaking. He lies back across the sofa, resting his head on the armrest and letting his feet dangle off at the other end. There are about three seconds when Archie considers attempting to pull off his white socks, but then Reggie nods his head as if to signal for Archie to climb onto him and the socks are forgotten - they’ll keep his feet warm, anyway.

It feels as though Archie’s heart might beat right out of his chest as he crawls onto Reggie and scoots up until his knees are pressing against the armrest, just above Reggie’s shoulders. His legs are bent up a little awkwardly over Reggie’s shoulders, and across his chest, but Archie barely even notices because Reggie is gripping Archie’s hips and pulling gently, making the young man lean over him until he’s in danger of toppling right off the sofa.

The movement brings Archie’s cock in line with Reggie’s mouth. He just stares down at Reggie for a moment, watching his gorgeous dark eyes flick up and down, then Archie is throwing his head back with a shout as Reggie licks around the crown of his cock and pulls on his hips just when he slides smoothly between the man’s wet lips.

Reggie starts sucking straight away, drawing back and sliding forwards in soft, even movements. He swirls his tongue around the head of Archie’s cock and tongues at his slit, making Archie moan and hunch over. He plants his hands heavily on both sides of Reggie’s head to save himself from falling. The position is awkward and makes Archie curl up uncomfortably tight, but he can’t bring himself to care. He decides this pain is definitely worth the pleasure when he pries his eyes open to watch Reggie. The sight of it - of Reggie humming around his cock, his cheeks hollowed and his eyes glazed over with desire - makes Archie’s head spin.

He thinks about the Reggie who had glared at him in the back room of the boxing club; of the Reggie who had pulled away from him in the bar and hissed a warning against his ear. He thinks about the Reggie he knows, who is constantly fighting a losing battle against a sin which makes him feel happier and safer than anything else in the world. He thinks about how he and Reggie will never say that they love each other even though they both want to scream it with every brush of their fingers and press of their lips.

Then Archie thinks about this Reggie, who has suppressed so much and granted himself so little that even the smallest touch is enough to turn him to jelly. This Reggie - this Reggie who loves to pin Archie down by the wrists and push into him; who wants to draw out the perfect, desperate need quivering through Archie’s body for as long as possible; who buries his nose in Archie’s chest and pants every time Archie fucks into him against the headboard... This Reggie is no different from the others.

The sudden realization, the understanding, makes Archie want to wrap himself around Reggie and kiss him until there isn’t a puff of breath left between them. Instead he gasps and pushes forward into Reggie’s mouth, feeling the beginning of bruises where Reggie’s fingers are digging into his ass cheeks, and tips over the edge into his orgasm. Reggie swallows most of it, his arms loosely bracketing Archie’s hips above him, his breath wheezing through his nose. Then Archie pulls out and wriggles back down Reggie’s body, cracking the stiffness out of his wrists and kissing away a drop of come by Reggie’s mouth.

“Thank you.” He says breathless against Reggie’s lips.

“Don’t-” Reggie starts to interrupt but Archie speaks over him.

“Thank you for picking me.” He finishes, kissing Reggie’s nose and nuzzling into his cheek. “I’m glad you did, even with- with everything.”

Reggie runs his thumb over the joint between Archie’s neck and shoulder, mouthing at his collarbone a little. “I didn’t pick you.” He says quietly. “There wasn’t anyone else who I could imagine doing this for. Doing it with. You were just you, it wasn’t a choice. It was... it was meant to be.”

Archie grins down at Reggie and says. “I don’t think I’ve quite got the wherewithal to make much sense of that right now.”

“Then roll over instead.” Reggie orders with a smirk, nudging Archie’s shoulder.

Archie scrambles backwards to let him get up. Reggie’s cock has softened a little while they’ve been talking, but once Archie is lying spread out on the sofa, Reggie doesn’t hesitate to climb between his legs and lean down to press a kiss to the center of Archie’s chest. When Reggie sits up again, he’s got the bottle of Vaseline that Archie keeps hidden beneath the sofa clutched tightly in his hand - they had moved it from Archie’s bedside table after Reggie freaked out and told Archie that would be the first place anyone would look if they were even a tiny bit suspicious. As Reggie coats two fingers and starts to circle Archie’s hole, He finds he’s never been more glad of the foresight.

Filthy moans fall past Archie’s lips as Reggie pushes his first finger inside. He writhes against Reggie’s thighs, curling his legs up around Reggie’s waist and trying to grind down onto his finger. It’s the way Reggie starts massaging the crease between Archie’s thigh and ass that finally pushes Archie into breathy pants and whines. He struggles up until he’s almost sitting, Reggie’s finger still pressed tight inside him, and scrabbles for purchase on Reggie’s neck. Archie finally manages to wrap his palm around Reggie’s nape and he pulls him in for a messy kiss, groping blindly between them until his other hand closes around Reggie’s cock.

Archie rubs his thumb over the slit and revels in Reggie’s desperate moan. He can feel Reggie hardening in his fist and the shared heady rush of it means that Archie hardly notices Reggie sliding a second finger into him. It’s only when the two of them shift the position into the stretch that the feeling of fullness truly strikes him. He whimpers against Reggie’s lips and pulls back to gaze between their bodies, staring at where large, strong fingers are disappearing into his body.

With a last cry, Archie pulls his hand off Reggie’s cock and runs his fingers up and down Reggie’s forearm, finally coming to a stop where the other man’s fingers are bunched together at his hole. Archie strokes Reggie’s ring finger, tracing the spot where a wedding ring may one day sit, then slides it into himself alongside the other two. The sensation pushes another desperate breath out of Archie and he rolls his hips into the foreign fingers, grasping onto his shoulders with both hands. The redhead nestles his head into Reggie’s neck and laps uselessly at the hot, sweaty skin there. He can still smell the boxing ring and the thick scent of Reggie’s earlier exertion.

“Please.” He moans at last, surprised by the hoarse scratch of his own voice. “Reggie, please. Now I need- it has to be you. I can’t just- with fingers.”

There’s a faint twinge in Archie’s ribs at hearing himself begging for Reggie to fuck him - begging for anyone to fuck him - but the desperate, choking fog of his need clouds the shame of his desire for another man. Archie can hardly bring himself to care about Hell and damnation, or corrupting his soul, when he’s sure he’ll weep if he doesn’t feel the person he loves surrounding him with strong arms and thrusting hips.

Several long seconds pass and Reggie doesn’t make any move to remove his hand. Eventually, Archie pulls his face away from the other’s neck and ducks his head to look into his face.

Reggie is staring down between them, his eyes fixed on his own fingers where they’re buried in Archie’s anus. He’s biting his lip, and there’s a tremor running down his arms and along his thighs - when he looks up to find Archie gazing straight at him, the shaking in Reggie’s arms increases and he opens and closes his mouth a few times. Archie cups Reggie’s jaw and presses a kiss to the corner of his lips, trying to soothe him.

“Arch, I- I- I’m sorry.” Reggie pants, his eyes wide and panicked and his words tumbling into each other in his rush to speak. “I can’t believe that I’m- that we’re- Archie, I don’t want to hurt you, I don’t want to make you betray yourself like this- I just- I want you.”

Archie strokes Reggie’s hair, letting his hands trail down along Reggie’s neck and over his shoulders, hushing him with soft, quiet sounds. They have done this before - Reggie has done it before, giving and taking in equal measure. He knows how it feels to have Archie pushing into him. Reggie knows how much Archie gasps and writhes on his cock and how hard he comes every time. It’s just a momentary lapse; it’s just Reggie letting the weight of everything outside of this moment wrack his body with fear and hatred and nausea.

“It’s alright.” Archie whispers, still stroking Reggie’s hair. “It’s alright, Reggie. You’re not hurting me, you’re not making me do anything. You know I want it. We’ve done it so many times, Reggie, and I always want it. Look at that.” Archie squeezes the base of his own cock, thick and hard with arousal once again. “Does your dick ever do that if you don’t like something?”

Reggie chuckles, small tears shining in his eyes, and kisses Archie’s bicep softly. “No.” He admits, dragging out the word to poke fun of Archie in return.

“Then please.” Archie says, urgent but still quiet. Still calm. “Do it. I know you want to. Come on, Reggie.” He kisses Reggie’s nose. “Please.”

And Reggie does it. He carefully pulls his fingers out, and lines up his hard cock in one swift movement, using the liquid substance left on his hand to ease the way into Archie’s body. It’s perfect, finally feeling Reggie thick with desire inside him, and Archie gasps and pants into the hot, close air between them. It’s just two or three thrusts before Archie lets himself drop back onto the sofa cushions, twisting both hands into the old fabric, and tightening his legs around Reggie’s muscled waist.

Archie groans each time Reggie hits his prostate, bucking wildly in an attempt to draw the pleasure out and pushing down against Reggie’s hips. The pace they set is rough, with Reggie only half pulling out before he pushes back in, groaning Archie’s name and digging his thumbs into his ribs to hold him still. The wet sound of their fucking is all that punctuates the silence between Archie’s gasps and Reggie’s pants, until Archie feels himself getting close once again. He reaches down and wraps his fingers around the base of his cock, pumping erratically and whining into the stillness around them. Reggie’s eyes drag up and down Archie’s body but it’s not until they connect with Archie’s own that the thrill of orgasm rips through his lover.

He sighs, his breathing thin and strained, and reaches for Reggie even as the aftershocks run through his body. Reggie is still fucking him, but his thrusts are slower now, shallower.

“Come on.” Archie pants, curling his fingers around Reggie’s hands where they’re resting on his ribs. “Come on, Reggie. Come inside me. I want you to- fuck, please.”

Reggie bends low, kisses Archie’s jaw, and does exactly that. He growls into the other man’s neck as he comes, his body jerking into Archie with short, frantic movements as he pumps his cock in and out of Archie’s ass. His come is hot and sticky, adding to the wet, squelching sounds between them, and the redhead loves it. He closes his eyes and lets himself sink into the feeling of Reggie all around him for a few moments longer, rubbing his hands over Reggie’s arms and kissing his ear, his neck - whatever he can reach.

When Reggie finally shifts his hips, there’s the unmistakable sound of his joints clicking. He groans in pain and slips out of Archie, swallowing his whine with a kiss and wrapping his arms around Archie’s shoulders to hold him close. He’s heavy, and the sweat on their chests is making them stick together, and overheat in truly uncomfortable ways, but Archie can’t bear the thought of moving him. Instead, he absentmindedly threads his fingers through Reggie’s hair and hums.

“It’s just us,” Archie says softly. “Just me and you, yeah? Don’t freak out. I sense you’re about to freak out.”

“M’not freaking out.” Reggie mumbles against Archie’s chest. “Just thinking. Don’t know why loving you so much is such a sin. Don’t know why it’ll send me to Hell.”

“I know.” Archie sighs. He stares up at the dark ceiling above them and wonders what it is that he did to deserve such an awful muddle of happiness and shame. “I can’t imagine anything bad coming of having you in my life.”

Reggie presses a kiss to Archie’s nipple and squeezes him just a little tighter. They fall asleep like that and don’t wake up until 3am, both with aching joints and pounding headaches. Reggie rolls off Archie and stumbles to his feet, pulling the two of them out of the sitting room and into the bedroom, where they slide beneath freezing cold sheets, and doze off again with cold fingers and chattering teeth.

  

* * *

 

Nothing changes. Archie doesn’t expect it to. He wakes up first and kisses Reggie awake. They have an awkward breakfast, neither sure how long it’ll be before they go back to not touching. Reggie sits at Archie’s desk and jots down the details of the fight yesterday, underlining the most exciting moments for Archie to focus on in his column. Archie watches him as he flicks through the newspaper, feeling sick and winded because of how much he wants Reggie, and angry with himself for not trying to change that - for not wanting to change that.

Then Archie starts playing an old record, and the familiar sound makes Reggie grin and get up from the desk to twirl Archie around under his arm. They dance for a while with no real rhythm, laughing and tickling each other. Archie shows Reggie his new suit for the church party on Friday. Reggie kisses Archie’s cheek and runs his finger along his jaw, and Archie drops to his knees and sucks Reggie off in the bedroom, moaning at the feeling of Reggie’s hands in his hair and the weight of Reggie’s balls against his chin.

Reggie cooks dinner, leaving the ingredients from beneath Archie’s cabinet scattered across the counter, and smiling through the whole process. Archie sighs deeply and grins too, his chest filled with love for the other man. Then sits down to write up his column, and wonders about what his boyfriend will make for dinner.

The afternoon is calm and warm at Riverdale that day.

**Author's Note:**

> Don't forget to leave Kudos and Comment if you liked this!


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